MOST IMPORTANT DAY: Conclusion. After the homestyle chicken and soup, fries and macaroni and salad and coffee, Debbie and her little sister, Kimberly piled into their cousin's car. Their young cousin Richard showed them his new house. A sparkling Harley Davidson stood in the living room, on the white rug, fresh off the ramp that led through the door.
Debbie pranced across the street to her Aunt and Uncle's house that she had not seen inso long, sporting her father's black leather jacket. It had been custom tailored for her father in his racing days. Rich treasured the souvenir of the fifites, guarding it day and night. They passed around a photo of her mother and father on a motorcycle when they first met.
They laughed and reminisced and took pictures. They sat on the porch swing and then it was time to go back. Debbie posed with the black leather jacket, her back to the camera, looking over her shoulder, then to the side. All she could think of was the song "Bad to the Bone" by George Thoroughgood.
"Debbie, you are a fruit loop," her prim but beautiful sister Nicole said.
"Memere would have wanted it this way," Aunt Jeanette said. And then, "Lookit that Harley patch right on the ass!" Her aunt laughed heartily.
The following morning remained misty and peaceful.
"That's kind of loud for a funeral," her father said, looking at Nicole's bright red dress.
"Memere's favorite color was red," Aunt Jeanette nodded.
"Thank you," Nicole smirked at her father.
Debbie and her sisters walked behind her parents down the aisle of the church where they were married thirty years before. Small, white fans graced the high, domed ceiling. Beautiful paintings adorned the interior of the entire church.
The music was full of hope as the organ droned quietly in the background of a beautiful, airy voice. Debbie felt carried away on the high notes of the songs, which reached the heights of the dome and soared over the farmhouses and shops of the small New England town. But when she left, her soft sobbing filled the church.
There was an odd comfort in this old ritual, in the symmetry of the black uniforms of the pall bearers, the black car, the procession itself. Was she wierd for thinking this?
Did other people think this way? She watched as her cousin Brigette dressed in white today, hugged her friend for a long time in the green grass. Her father put his hand on her petite mother's shoulder as they left.
The gifts Debbie had given her grandmother over time had come back to her. She felt a sinking of her heart at the sight of the furry white cat in his heart-printed pajamas, the music box she had given her for Christmas, mailing it just in time from New York. But then she saw the white Easter rabbit, clutching a bright red tulip, a reminder of the promise of rebirth.
She placed them on the rocking chair at home and felt her dear Memere's spirit, soft but strong, fill the room. The love she had given to her grandmother had been returned to her.
DH/1060D
